


Moroccan Blues

by Layla_Sanura



Series: Clearblue [6]
Category: Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter - Laurell K. Hamilton
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama & Romance, F/F, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:01:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24933427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Layla_Sanura/pseuds/Layla_Sanura
Summary: While Clearblue, Asher, and Anita travel to Morocco to assist Azra and Nazir with their lion problem, Clover takes the reins in St. Louis to help prepare the cackle's newest hyena for his impending change.
Relationships: Asher (Anita Blake)/Original Character(s)
Series: Clearblue [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1725550
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	Moroccan Blues

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dammitbilinski](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dammitbilinski/gifts).



> The events of _Moroccan Blues_ begin two weeks after _Clan of Sun and Spice_.

**Chapter 1: Casablanca**

Anita hated flying—and worse, she wouldn’t shut up about it. From almost the moment she’d decided to attend Clearblue’s trip to Morocco, she’d complained about the impending nine-and-a-half-hour flight, despite Clearblue’s constant reminders that it would be a nighttime journey she could sleep through with the help of a sedative. It was enough to make Clearblue wish they were already there.

Soon enough, her wish was granted. Anita, Elise, Sara, Claire, and Bacchus stood behind her in the security line of the arrival terminal of Casablanca’s Mohammed V Airport. Tanya had been invited as well, but as one of the youngest members of the clan, was still in school and couldn’t take the time off. While the three female hyenas were there in the capacity of powerful posse, Bacchus was an asset for his conversational Arabic, and for having extended family in Tunisia they could call on if they found themselves in political or diplomatic crisis. Even with Jean-Claude’s connections, seven tickets were the most they could find together on short notice.

It was just past ten in the morning local time and all six were bleary-eyed, especially Anita, from the sleep aid Clearblue had practically shoved down her throat at the start of the flight. Finally, it was their turn to show passports and declare their personal items, and with the help of a faltering Bacchus, they managed to all get through in fifteen minutes. After another thirty minutes at baggage claim, they stepped outside to the wide, moderately busy pedestrian drop-off circuit paved in gray flagstones and dotted with swaying palm trees.

The sun was out, blinking amid a cloudless cobalt sky, and already the temperature was mid-sixties and climbing—though it felt more like mid-seventies compared to the frigid St. Louis March they had left four-thousand miles behind them. Upon Bacchus’s instructions, the women had covered their hair in scarves and dressed in fairly conservative, though Western, clothes. In a metropolitan city like Casablanca, and certainly at an international airport, uncovered women were not uncommon, but to avoid trouble altogether, Clearblue and Anita had agreed it would be better to defer to the country’s custom.

Sara spotted a middle-aged man dressed in a black suit holding a sign that read _Aldan/Blake_. They approached him, and Bacchus made the introductions before the man led them to a shining black SUV and accompanying hearse parked along the curb. Bacchus sat in the front passenger seat and the women settled into the back.

Once on the road, Claire glanced out the rear windshield at the hearse following one car length behind. Her eyebrows knit together in confusion and she shot an inquisitive expression at Clearblue.

Clearblue smiled and said, “Asher.” She loosened the scarf around her head and combed fingers through her chestnut hair, made brighter against the scarf’s black fabric.

“They put him in the cargo bay of the plane?” Claire asked in surprise.

“There’s really no other way for vampires to travel long distances; they have to be moved in coffins,” Anita supplied.

“How . . . undignified,” Claire replied.

“I know. Jean-Claude for one hates it. He’s so used to luxury in every aspect of his life, the idea of being tossed around as someone’s luggage really gets to him.” Anita chuckled at the thought.

They made small talk for the remainder of the three-hour drive to Fes, though a good portion of time was spent glued wide-eyed to the windows as they passed through towns and countryside alike, the boxed earthen houses and castle-like turrets of taller buildings flashing past in clumps.

**Chapter 2: Hy-Strung Hyena**

Clover hadn’t expected to be managing this much responsibility so quickly after becoming Neiterkob—but upon reflection, he thought, he would rather be holding down the fort at home than trying to mediate a volatile dispute between weregroups. Clearblue had always been the more patient of the two, and her profession as a therapist made the Morocco trip right up her alley.

In her absence, Clover was Oba-by-proxy to the Kabultiloa, and for the past few days, his energies had been focused on guiding the clan’s soon-to-be newest member through his first shift. Two weeks ago, Jamie Poole had been viciously attacked by the Idrisid Oba to make a point. Though the two cackles had since made peace, the damage was done, and Jamie had tested positive for hyena lycanthropy shortly thereafter.

In preparation for Jamie’s upcoming shift, Clover was working closely with Micah. The Nimir-Raj had explained to him that, because of Azra’s hyena’s sheer power, Jamie had received a very resilient strain of the virus and with time would likely become one of the strongest male hyenas in the clan. With the full moon now just two days away, Clover decided to pay Jamie a visit at his restaurant on his way to work that morning.

Clover caught Jamie’s eye from across the bistro just as he was returning to the kitchen. There was a loud, cringe-inspiring crash that followed a moment later, and Clover shook his head to no one in particular. Twenty seconds later, Jamie appeared again holding a to-go cup and made a beeline for him, took his arm and pulled him outside. Although Clover had only met Jamie twice before (and only once that Jaime remembered), he knew that wide-eyed and fidgety was not how the kid usually looked.

Clover accepted the cardboard cup of coffee from Jamie with a nod of appreciation. “Thanks. Hey, it’ll be alright. You’re making this into more than it is.” He spoke slowly and evenly, and punctuated his remark with a steady hand on Jamie’s shoulder.

Jamie’s wild eyes rolled in his head. “I just can’t stop thinking about it, man. I’m freaking out.”

Clover smiled warmly. “Yeah, I can see that. Listen, I’m a panwere, and I’ve been able to shift since puberty. I don’t have many memories of _not_ being a wereanimal, so unfortunately, I can’t be of much direct help to you as you go through this process. I’ve asked one of our dominants, Tanya, to help you with moral support and answering the shit-ton of questions you probably have about what it’s like. She was attacked by a rogue hyena when she was nineteen, which was only three years ago—it’s still fresh in her mind. Come to the mixer at Narcissus in Chains tonight at six and you can speak with her, along with any of the other clan members.”

“Alright.” He took an audible breath. “That’s a good idea.”

“You have two more days until the full moon, which I know right now seems both a long and short time to wait, but you can’t spend those days worrying yourself into a panic. It’s going to happen; the sooner you accept it come to terms with it, the better you’ll feel. The first time can be dangerous, but you’re strong and healthy: you’ll get through it, and you’ll have a support team to make sure nothing goes wrong. I promise you that.”

Jamie nodded. “Thank you, Clover. I really appreciate everything you’re doing. I’ll try to relax.”

Clover patted his back and smiled once more. “I’ll see you tonight, then.”

**Chapter 3: Fes**

Fes lay one-hundred twenty-five miles inland, and just under two-hundred miles northeast of Casablanca. As Morocco’s second-largest city, it was bustling and industrious as one would expect, but also quite lovely. They approached the city limit at a crest, which provided prime vantage to the elegantly cluttered skyline of boxy, sand-colored buildings set in a bowl valley against an arm of the Atlas Mountains. The sky, somehow even bluer than it had been earlier, hovered pristinely like a grand rotunda, marked here and there by drifting cotton-ball clouds.

Claire gasped and took her sister’s hand as the car descended over the lip of the valley. “It’s beautiful,” she trilled.

Indeed, everyone was dumbfounded at the city’s busy splendor—their heads blocked up the windows, eyes oscillating furiously to take in as much as possible.

Bacchus turned around from the front seat and beamed at them. “I haven’t been back to the Maghreb in six years. I’ve forgotten how much I missed it.” His voice was at once excited and wistful.

Silently, they wound their way through the streets and boulevards, each sight more exotic than the last, until the driver pulled up near the front entrance of a lavish-looking hotel with a clean white exterior and blue tile trim.

Anita scrutinized the building for a beat before she tapped Bacchus on the shoulder. “Can you tell the driver that this is not our hotel?”

“It’s not?” Clearblue asked.

“No. Jean-Claude and I made the purchase together online, somewhere that fit our budget. This place looks way above our price range.”

Bacchus relayed this to the best of his ability to the driver, who interrupted him politely with an explanation. Bacchus turned to the women in the back.

“He says Azra arranged for us to stay here instead. She canceled our reservations; we’ll be getting an electronic refund from the other hotel.”

Anita blinked. “Oh.”

The driver nodded and smiled at them, then stepped out and popped the trunk of the car and began unloading their bags. The driver of the hearse, which had never strayed more than twenty feet from their car, exited as well, and with the help of three bellboys, hoisted Asher’s coffin out and into the lobby.

The hotel looked chic and expensive from the outside, but that was nothing compared to the interior. The lobby’s long front windows let in an abundance of light that streamed across the high white walls. The floor was done entirely in tiny blue-and-white tiles arranged in a repetitive diamond pattern; its furniture was supple black leather with complementary black-stained wood tables, accentuated here and there with crimson and gold velvet tasseled pillows.

Bacchus and their driver approached the front desk and spoke to the smiling, open-faced young woman at the computer. She typed a bit on the keyboard and then handed them four room keys. Their driver turned to Bacchus, said something quickly in Arabic, shook his hand, and then bowed shallowly to the women before he exited the lobby.

Bacchus translated: “He has another client to pick up. He hopes we have a wonderful stay in Fes.”

The woman at the reception desk leaned forward and addressed them: “I too wish you the best our city has to offer.” Her voice lilted pleasantly with a light accent. “My name is Samira. I work days, one to ten, so please let me know if you need anything at all.”

“Thank you so much,” Clearblue replied, and smiled back at her.

“You are the guests of Ms. Azra Mahnoor?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Ah.” The woman retrieved something from below the desk. “She instructed me to give you this, upon your arrival.”

Clearblue took the plain white envelope from her. “Oh, wonderful. Thank you.”

“The elevators are straight through the short hallway, there.” She pointed to the back wall of the lobby. “Enjoy your stay.”

Bacchus thanked her again in Arabic before they set off for their rooms.

Their group were assigned four large rooms near to one another on the third floor, each with two queen beds, a sitting area, and gorgeous marble bathroom. Clearblue and Anita shared one, Claire and Elise another, and Sara and Bacchus shared a third. The bellboys delivered Asher’s coffin into the specialized room equipped with heavy black-out curtains. As Anita had explained in the car, forward-thinking hotels around the world now offered a number of ‘vampire friendly’ rooms that protected against sunlight. After they’d set down their bags and quickly freshened up, everyone congregated in Anita and Clearblue’s room to look over Azra’s note.

“ _Dear Friends_ ,” Clearblue read aloud Azra’s now-familiar handwriting. “ _We thank you for your assistance and hope your travel was not too troublesome. As you know by now, I have replaced your former hotel reservations with these rooms, which I think will be more comfortable. It is my treat, a show of gratitude to your effort. I expect you to find everything to your liking, and if not, the concierge will do all in their power to accommodate you. I will send a representative and cars to pick you up at nine this evening. Until then, you are free to do as you please. As a starting point, I will say that your hotel’s restaurant is one of the best in the city. I look forward to seeing all of you tonight. See you soon, Azra_.”

Anita looked at her phone. “Well, it’s just after two now. Should we plan to eat at six-thirty?”

Clearblue nodded. “Perfect. I for one need a nap and a shower. I’ll write Asher a note for when he rises.”

**Chapter 4: A Nap and a Snack?**

Clearblue awoke to the sounds of a shower running and the collective hum of foot traffic and distant voices that floated in through an open window. She stretched and sat up. It was half past five, and by the look of the other bed’s mussed covers, Anita had gotten up shortly before her.

The shower cut off and a minute later the necromancer walked out of the bathroom in a long fluffy robe, billows of steam trailing her. “All yours.”

“Thanks.” Clearblue stretched again and rubbed sleep from her eyes. The mattresses and sheets were very high quality, and she felt blissfully as though she had slept a full eight hours.

The shower, too, was luxurious: roomy, clean, and the water was pressurized enough to massage her shoulders. She was utterly refreshed and relaxed when she finished and, after she combed through her hair, exited to find Anita sitting at the desk in front of the laptop she brought along.

“So how’s the weather? Better than here, I bet. Gonna go sunbathing?” The voice and the flirty tone were unmistakably Jason.

Anita ignored his question and said to Clearblue, “It’s twelve-thirty in the afternoon back home, so I can’t check in with Jean-Claude. Jason said he’d relay my message—” she turned back to the video feed on the computer— “ _didn’t_ you?”

He sighed. “Yeah, yeah.”

Clearblue joined Anita and leaned over to be on eye-level with Jason. “Hey Jace. How’s St. Louis? Heard anything from Clover?”

“Not directly, but I did hear from Micah that Clover and Tanya will be helping Jamie through his first full moon on Sunday. Clover’s been consulting with Micah for tips and requested a couple volunteers from the Coalition to help out.” He paused and scrunched his nose. “Why are you both in robes?”

“We just got out of the shower,” Anita said nonchalantly. She instantly regretted not being more specific.

“ _Together_?” Jason was almost giddy.

She grumbled and rolled her eyes. “No, pervert—separately!”

Clearblue laughed at their exchange and stood. “Glad to see it’s business as usual. I’m gonna go next door to see if Asher’s risen yet.”

“I bet he has ‘risen!’ _Bow-chika-wow-wow_.” Jason imitated porn music as Clearblue walked away shaking her head.

She grabbed the spare keys to her room and to Asher’s from the dresser and left Anita and Jason to mock-fight in private (though Anita made it sound pretty convincing). The electronic lock blinked green and she pushed open Asher’s door, closing it quietly behind her. The drawn curtains made the space pitch-black, and before her eyes could adjust, she jammed her foot into the corner of Asher’s coffin.

“Ow! Shit.”

At that, the desk lamp flipped on to reveal Asher standing near the far bed wearing only a pair of trousers. “Are you alright?” he asked with oozing indifference.

It was two weeks later, and he was still pouting over the incident with J.J. They had managed to be cordial and supportive while Azra was in St. Louis, but once the Oba and her posse were gone, Asher had made it clear he hadn’t forgotten that she’d broken their abstinence pact. She had tried everything: apologizing sincerely, ignoring him, picking fights, until finally Jean-Claude told her she just had to let it go and wait until he came out of it on his own. Since then she’d been walking on eggshells around him: trying her best to be polite and optimistic and not disturb his sensitivities.

“Yeah, fine,” she muttered.

He reached out an arm to her. “Let me see,” he said begrudgingly.

“No, I’m fine, really.”

“You are bleeding.”

Clearblue touched her foot and felt a warm wetness. He was right. She gave in and hobbled to him, and sat on the edge of the bed. Asher grabbed a tissue and knelt before her. He gently dabbed at the inch-wide gash near her heel until the skin around it was clean.

“I was going to leave you a note, but figured you’d be up already. Anita is talking with Jason on the laptop and we’re all going for dinner around six-thirty at the restaurant downstairs; you’re welcome to join us once the sun sets. Azra is picking us up at nine.”

“Thank you, but I have work to complete. I will meet you in the lobby when it comes time.” The words she expected, but his tone she had not. He spoke softly, longingly, as if not denying a dinner invitation but accepting a more intimate one.

She looked down and saw he was fixated by her wound. “Asher?”

His grip on her foot tightened—not painful, but firm—and he stroked his other hand along her calf. His head dipped toward her heel, but then he stopped, and his body went vampire-still. She knew he was fighting himself.

It took a good deal of effort for him to lift his head, but he did. She saw by the lamplight that the skin of his face was papery thin, his cheekbones prominent and almost protruding. “I have not fed.”

**Chapter 5: A Spoonful of Sugar**

Clover knew well the expression newcomers wore when they attended a hyena mixer for the first time: apprehension. This was due to general nerves about what to expect, but also because of the location of the club—people with conservative or traditional sexual tastes were often not even aware of this section of town, never mind had visited before, and the sights simply walking down the street could come as a shock. When Jamie entered, however, Clover knew his emotion sprung from what his being here meant: that it was really happening and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

He made sure he was first to greet Jamie. “Hey. I’m glad you came.”

The young man forced a smile.

Clover turned his attention to the large room full of mingling guests, the atmosphere buzzing with overlapped voices, and pointed to the back wall. “Over there we have the buffet. You got here early enough that there’s still some good stuff left. There’s a group playing poker in the corner, but most people just come to shoot the shit.”

“Yeah, I wanted to ask you earlier: what exactly is the point to all this?” 

“Clearblue and I put the mixers into practice primarily for strengthening clan ties, both between ourselves and the clan, and among members. But, for rogues looking for a home and for the newly infected, it’s also a means of support, of meeting people who know what you’re going through and can help. We’ve been so successful that the wolf and rat leaders are considering starting similar get-togethers for their respective groups.”

Jamie looked around, suddenly interested. “ _E_ _veryone_ here is a werehyena?”

Clover smiled. “Yep.”

“Wow. I didn’t know there were so many. How big is the clan?”

“We’re approaching six-hundred-seventy members—of course, people drop by at different times, so we don’t often have the _whole_ clan here at once. When you shift for the first time, you’ll officially be number six-sixty-three.”

Jamie’s raised eyebrows were his only reply.

Clover spotted Ares some yards away and waved him over. “Jamie, this is Ares. He’s been part of the Kabultiloa for a few years now.” He turned to Ares. “Ares, Jamie is our soon-to-be newest member.”

Ares shook Jamie’s hand. “Good to meet you! Clover mentioned you might come tonight.”

“Oh, perfect, there’s Tanya.” Clover gestured subtly to the attractive young woman walking toward them.

He tried to hide his grin at Jamie’s reaction. It was no coincidence Clover had asked this favor of Tanya: she was beautiful, and for a man in his early twenties, there was no better motivator than the possibility—even a microscopic hint—of sex.

Tanya breezed over to their group as bright and carefree as ever and enthusiastically introduced herself. Jamie fumbled a bit in his response, but Tanya assumed he was shy instead of overcome, and gently took his arm to lead him to the buffet.

Ares chuckled as he and Clover watched the pair work their way through the crowd. “Nice touch.”

“Thanks. I had a feeling she was his type.”

**Chapter 6: The Awoken Leviathan**

It seemed an eternity as they looked at one another: Asher kneeling with his hands wrapped around her leg; Clearblue perched on the bed staring into his wan face, still beautiful even when ravaged by fasting. His eyes were darker than normal in the weak light, shadowed, and turned widely up to her. His expression wasn’t pleading; it was much more powerful than that—it was illuminating. In his face she saw all the potential between them laid bare: the physical, metaphysical, and emotional. His desire radiated from him.

Clearblue let herself think about what she had suppressed from her consciousness for months. She imagined slipping from the bed into his lap, kissing him, his hands in her hair and on her back. She imagined her legs locked around his hips, his mouth on her neck as he buried himself inside of her. She gasped for breath and her thighs went hot. Asher felt her pulse speed and his hands flexed around her leg in response.

“ _Cherie_ ,” he whispered.

But she willfully blinked her thoughts away and stood abruptly. “I’ll get Bacchus.”

She didn’t stay to hear his reply; maybe he didn’t make one. Bacchus opened his door to her knock looking groggy and somewhat miffed.

She gave him a look of apology before explaining: “Asher needs to feed.”

He groaned, but didn’t argue and walked dutifully across to the vampire’s room. Clearblue caught his door before it closed, entered, and lay heavily on the far bed with an arm over her eyes (she was glad Sara had woken early to explore the hotel). She couldn’t go back to her own room, not yet. Anita would know something was up, and that was a conversation she just couldn’t have at the moment.

She lay there for several minutes, perhaps even a quarter hour, until she heard noises from the corridor: a knock close by and Bacchus’s voice, followed by Elise’s. There was shuffling, the _click_ of a door latch, and then Bacchus reentered.

“Oh,” he exclaimed when he saw her.

Clearblue propped herself up on her elbow. “What happened?”

Bacchus looked woozy; he exhaled deeply as he sat beside her on the bed. “He’s feeding on Elise now because I couldn’t sate him. Hopefully she’ll do the trick; her beast is much stronger than mine.” He flopped down on the mattress and closed his eyes.

“You okay, Bach?” Her eyes narrowed in concern at his heavy breathing, as if he’d just sprinted up a steep flight of stairs.

“Yeah, just weak—the combination of blood loss and orgasm is pretty draining.”

“Agreed. Here, let me help.”

She scooted closer to him and held her hands over his chest. His breathing slowed as she pushed her restorative energy into him. He exhaled heavily one final time, and his eyelids fluttered as she finished. “Better?”

Bacchus smiled and sat up. “Much, thanks.” He paused and searched her face. “Are you going to tell me what you’re doing in here?”

She started at his blunt change of topic. He raised his eyebrows and fixed her with his gaze.

“I’m sure you know about the tension between Asher and me.”

“No offense, but, who doesn’t?”

Clearblue gave a spurt of nervous laughter. “Right. Well, I went into his room to see if he was up yet. He was and we kind of had a . . . moment. It was weird.”

“Good-weird or bad-weird?”

“I’m not sure. Anyway, after I fetched you, I thought I would hang around in here for a bit, to get my head on straight.”

Bacchus looked at her with a discerning expression, one she had never seen before. “I don’t think it’s your head you should worry about.”

**Chapter 7: Motives**

“Do you think we can go sight-seeing? After, I mean?” Claire asked enthusiastically. She turned expectantly to Clearblue, hopeful.

“That depends on how smoothly this lion thing goes. But maybe; who knows?”

The six of them were seated at a table in the restaurant of the hotel, dressed as if due to meet royalty. Clearblue was still surprised by the formality of vampire and wereanimal events: it boggled her that she had packed more evening wear than casual day wear for this trip.

“I want to explore as much as the next person, but from Azra and Nazir’s attitude toward this Diallo person, I doubt we’ll have the time. Let’s not forget why we’re here,” Anita chimed in.

Claire looked crestfallen, but nodded silently.

Though the menus included English translations, Bacchus had suggested dishes for them—as, outside of the occasional trendy Moroccan-themed eatery back home, no one was that familiar with traditional Moroccan cuisine. When their entrées arrived, everyone was glad to have taken his advice: a thick cloud of comingled delicious smells wafted up from the table as the waiter served them. Sara and Clearblue had ordered _pastillas_ , dense meat pies with shredded chicken filling, and sides of _zaalouk_ , cooked eggplant and tomato salad. Anita got the _merguez_ , spicy lamb sausage, and a dish of lentil soup; Claire, a slow-simmered casserole of chicken stuffed with sweetened couscous, raisins, and almonds called _ferakh maamer_ ; Elise the _tajine_ , a stew of tender lamb and mixed vegetables; and Bacchus the _bourekas_ , baked pastries filled with minced meat, feta cheese, and vegetables. Their conversation ended abruptly as they tucked into their meals.

Anita swallowed her last bite, then exhaled contentedly. “God, that was good. And I’m not even a foodie. You’re proving invaluable to this trip, Bacchus.”

He grinned.

Clearblue checked her phone. “Oh, we’ve got to get moving. Azra’s cars will be here in half an hour, and I’m sure we all want one more trip to the rooms before we leave.”

Anita nodded and flagged down their waiter to pay. The young man approached and stood smiling by their table with his hands clasped behind his back, listening to Bacchus. His smile wilted in confusion, and then morphed into understanding.

He replied softly, and Bacchus translated: “He says there’s no need—Azra has all our hotel expenses covered, including the meals we eat in the restaurant.”

Anita shared a discreet glance with Clearblue before she nodded politely to the waiter. He bowed in return, and left them. Clearblue saw the burning question in Anita’s eyes, but knew she would wait until they were alone.

Shortly thereafter, they were, and no sooner had they closed their door than Anita started in.

“I hope I’m not going to regret coming here.” She gave Clearblue _the look_ —the visual manifestation of pure, Anita-grade skepticism. “Did we ever determine the source of Azra’s money? First, she rents out the entire Chase Park Hotel, then our trip here is practically bought and paid for—she’s bending over backward for us like she expects a miracle. I’m not a miracle-worker, Clearblue.”

“I know. I’m a little wary, too.” Clearblue sat on her bed, across from Anita. “I don’t know where she gets her money. Maybe it’s not even hers; maybe it’s Nazir’s. Old vampires accrue fortunes, don’t they?”

“Jean-Claude has a fortune. This is a little over the top, even for a vampire—at least, for a vampire who’s not on the Council.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

“Really. What worries me is what this means for us: if the Idrisid are as powerful as she said, _plus_ she has funding backing her operation, what are we doing here? What can we possibly do to the lions that can’t be accomplished with a hefty payment? Hell, Edward would take out all five of the Rexes if the price was right.”

Clearblue cocked her head. “Edward?”

Anita chuckled and waved his name away. “He’s a hit man who also happens to be the most dangerous person I know. He’s the best, but there are plenty of others who are almost as good. Since money seems to be no object, Azra could hire any one of them to solve her problem. So why hasn’t she?”

“Tahira. Remember they said they think the lions took her?”

“Yes, but Azra is headstrong and impatient, and she’s not even convinced the lions _have_ Tahira. That was Nazir’s assumption. Even _if_ the lions took a hostage, Edward—or someone like him—could easily work that into his plan of attack. I’ve witnessed as much.”

“Well, I don’t know. We’re here and we said we’d help; the ball’s in their court for now.”

Anita narrowed her eyes. “I hate sports metaphors.”

**Chapter 8: Long Story Short**

Jamie could barely eat. He picked at the cold meat slices and baby carrots on his plate as he sat across from Tanya, who inhaled her food as if it was her first meal in days.

She finished and demurely patted her mouth with a napkin, and then raised an inquiring eyebrow. “You’re not hungry?”

“Not really.”

She shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

“Can I—” Jamie began, but abruptly closed his mouth. “Sorry, never mind.”

She placed a hand atop his. “I’m a pretty open person. I’m willing to talk about most things, and if I’m not, I’ll say it’s none of your business.”

That heartened him a bit. “Clover said you were attacked three years ago. Can I ask what happened?”

“Ah.” Tanya squared her shoulders and settled into her chair a little more. “My parents own a farm near Gadsden, Alabama—where I grew up. Early in the summer when I was nineteen, I was just home from college and met up with a few high school friends. We’d all gone in separate directions and hadn’t seen each other for almost a year, so we threw a big bonfire party in one of the fields near my parents’ place; it bordered our property and had been abandoned for years. A good number of people showed up, and we roasted hotdogs and marshmallows, drank beer, danced, and caught up on life. Most left by one-thirty or two, except a handful who lived close by. By four it was just my good friend and me: we were still a little drunk, talking about the old days, how we liked college, boys we’d met.” She paused and took a breath. “I guess he smelled the beer or the extra hotdogs we hadn’t gotten to, I’m not exactly sure. One second we were sitting in the grass, and the next he was on top of Ashley. For months afterward I had nightmares about her screaming—it was the worst sound I’d ever heard. That, and her bones crunching as he tore into her.” Tanya’s eyes hardened into a faraway stare as she spoke. “I was so terrified I couldn’t move. I just sat there as he . . . ate her, a yard or two away. When he finished, Ashley was nothing but a pile of meat in the moonlight. I vomited, and that’s what reminded him I was there. He turned to me and then lunged, and his teeth burned when he bit into my stomach. I blacked out at that point. The next thing I remember was waking up in the ICU of the local hospital. I shifted for the first time ten days later, after I was discharged, thank God. I don’t know what would’ve happened if I changed while still in the hospital.”

His mouth hung open for a moment before he recovered himself. “H-how did you survive? And who was he?”  
  
“My parents and a neighbor heard Ashley’s screams and called the police. The officers took him down with silver bullets while he was attacking me. The police called in the nearest preternatural detective, who said the hyena was probably a rogue who had neglected his beast for so long that he’d gone temporarily insane. In any case, he was shot to death on the spot.”

“That’s horrible.” Jamie shook his head.

“It was. My life fell apart: I dropped out of school because I didn’t know how to cope with being a lycanthrope. I was still dealing with the emotional fallout of such a traumatic episode, and I blamed myself for Ashley’s death. I was so ashamed that I couldn’t even attend her funeral. But finally, things became more tolerable. After getting involved with the preternatural communities both in Gadsden and St. Louis, I’ve realized that while my experience _was_ horrible, it was not at all isolated.” She gestured to the crowd around them. “Look, Jamie. Nearly everyone in this room contracted lycanthropy in a similar way—through a brutal attack. It’s the most common form of transmission by far.” She took his hand again. “Everyone here understands your fear, and everyone here would be at your side in a moment if you asked for help. I know I will be.” She paused to wink at him. “And, not to mention, everyone here is a testament that there _is_ life after going furry. I went back to school, and transferred to Washington University when I moved here.”

Jamie blew out a breath he’d been holding for who-knows-how-long and smiled genuinely at her. “Thank you, Tanya.”

**Chapter 9: Home Turf**

Their group congregated in the lobby at five-of-nine. Per Clearblue’s request, Bacchus and her dominants were dressed in silver and black, and as a unit they looked very sharp indeed. Clearblue, Anita, and Asher had coordinated their attire in a red-and-black theme—Asher, a black tuxedo and shirt with blood-red bow tie and matching ribbon that bound his hair in a low ponytail; Anita, a fitted black blouse, unbuttoned enough to generously hint at her cleavage, black slacks with red pinstripes, and red pumps; and Clearblue, a corseted gown that enhanced the hourglass shape of her waist and fanned out to her feet with the help of a modest hoop skirt. The dress fabric was mostly the same deep red as Asher’s tie, except for the black lace trim and corset strings. Her shoes were black satin slippers, and she had wrapped her hair into a thick bun at the nape of her neck and fastened into it a small, elegant black paper rose.

Despite his best effort, Asher could not completely hide the hot admiration in his eyes when Clearblue made her entrance, and his expression, coupled with the memory of their intense interaction earlier, made her blush at seeing him.

Two sleek sedans polished to a mirror-shine arrived in the hotel driveway at nine on the nose. The three of them sat in one, while the posse piled into the other. Warm and genial by day, Fes was romantically enchanting at night: the light from the streetlamps reflected off the earth-colored buildings to create a pervasive orange glow, and threw an ethereal quality onto the pedestrians walking by. Clearblue thought her eyes would pop out of her head on several occasions as she stared out at the beautiful city streets. Anita was similarly engaged, while Asher seemed preoccupied and kept his gaze in his lap. The ten-minute drive ended in a posh neighborhood outside of a handsome townhome on a corner lot, a surprisingly ample yard in back.

The cars pulled up along the curb and the chauffeurs held their doors for them. Bacchus whispered thank-yous in Arabic as they moved up the front stairs to the two men, obviously guards, posted outside.

Clearblue dipped her head in an abbreviated bow and smiled. “I am Clearblue Aldan, with my associates, here to see Azra Mahnoor.”

The man on the left, the shorter of the two, leaned toward her and sniffed the air around her neck. Clearblue beckoned her hyena from its cave, called it closer, so its scent would be stronger than her other animals. The hyena’s musk bubbled to the surface of her skin and wafted out to meet the nostrils of the guard. He nodded, and on cue the other man opened the front door for them.

They filed into a foyer with gorgeous lilac walls, crown molding, and hardwood maple floors. Buoyant laughter filtered in from an adjacent room before they were joined by a woman in bright gold robes that contrasted starkly with her midnight complexion.

She bowed at the waist. “Good evening,” she said with an accent. “I am Lewa, Azra’s alpha. Please follow me.”

Asher saddled up to Clearblue and offered her his arm, which she took after a moment’s pause. Following his lead, Bacchus escorted Anita, and Claire, Elise, and Sara brought up the rear. Lewa took them around a corner into a large, ornately adorned room with salmon-colored walls where four more bodies sat. Azra sat on a sofa against the back wall between two more of her dominants, Caasi and Kiden, also in gold.

Azra was dressed to stun: multi-layered black robes with shining gold embroidered designs made her olive skin positively glow. Her chocolate-brown hair was pulled away from her face with two topaz-encrusted combs behind her ears, but spilled down her back in swathes of thick curls. At some point in life, she had remained hyena for too long and had taken on the permanent eyes of her beast: true-black spheres with only a thin rim of white showing around them. Clearblue had found them unsettling at first, but ornamented with mascara and gold eyeshadow, Azra’s eyes looked simply exotic.

Nazir was in a leather easy chair to their right, his feet up on the accompanying ottoman, and was somehow more attractive than Clearblue remembered. His left eye, the blue one, was vivid against the cobalt silk of his tunic, which he paired with loose black trousers and blue slippers.

Standing in a fluid motion, he ran a hand through his shoulder-length dark hair and smiled at their group. “I welcome you to my city; I hope you have enjoyed yourselves thus far.”

Clearblue smiled in return and bowed slightly. “We have. Fes is delightful.”

Azra stood then, too, and Lewa took her place on the sofa with the other dominants. “Thank you again for coming, Clearblue, Anita.” She stepped in close to her and pressed their cheeks together.

Clearblue closed her eyes and saw their hyenas sniffing and rubbing one another in the shade of an umbrella acacia. “Of course.”

“Diallo has sent an emissary, who should be arriving shortly.”

“What do you hope to accomplish in this meeting? —Have you heard from Tahira yet?”

Azra glanced quickly at her master. “No, we have not; it has been six weeks now. I want my questions answered: such as, how Diallo can permit hyenas to die. I want us to come to an agreement.” She paused. “If we make no headway tonight, Nazir and I have decided we will pay Diallo himself a visit tomorrow evening. We hope you all will stand by us if it comes to that.”

Anita chimed in, “An ambush?”

“A show of just how serious we are,” Nazir supplied. His expression was ruthless.

Anita gave Clearblue a discreet version of _the look_ , but Clearblue ignored it and said, “We are here to support you, no matter what.”

Azra beamed. “Please, sit.”

**Chapter 10: Pissing Contest**

“The way you have described the blatant animosity between the hyenas and the lions is grounds for war; who is this Diallo’s master? Can you not appeal to him or her?” Asher asked once everyone was comfortable.

Azra replied, “I am ashamed to say we do not know.”

“If that were an option, I would have taken it.” Nazir scoffed.

“We keep out of other animals’ business and they keep out of ours—or, they did,” Azra continued. “Unfortunately, we do not know who the lions associate with or who their masters are.”

“Sounds like you need to set up your own Coalition.” Anita’s voice was tinged in anger. But anger was good; it wasn’t until she lost emotion altogether that there would be a problem.

“Yes, well, perhaps we will think on that,” Azra replied, a touch curtly.

Already, hackles were going up. Asher squeezed Clearblue’s hand, a warning, and she cleared her throat. “If the lion emissary walks into this hostility, I doubt he’ll want to compromise. Let’s bring it down a bit.”

Anita combed fingers through her hair and let out a breath. “You’re right. We don’t need an angry lion on top of everything.”

“I apologize,” Azra offered. “You are correct: if we had an organization such as yours in St. Louis, we would not be in this dire situation. But the fact remains we do not. We must work with what we have.”

“And what you have is a lion pride taking advantage of your ignorance of them,” Asher thought out loud. “They, on the other hand, certainly did their research. I agree with Nazir that it is too suspicious your human servant disappears just at the time of this conflict with the lions. I would not be surprised if they indeed kidnapped your Tahira.”

Nazir nodded his agreement at the other vampire.

Clearblue turned to Asher. “But what do we do about it?”

“We need more information on the lions—how we will get it, I do not know. They most certainly have the upper hand at the moment. Perhaps after this meeting when we return to the hotel, we can confer with Jean-Claude.”

“Good idea. I’ll have Micah do some research before we confront the lions again tomorrow.” And that was all Anita could say before they heard the front door open.

Azra gestured to Lewa, who rose from her seat and left the room to greet their guest. When she returned moments later her face betrayed her anxiety, and they all immediately identified the cause: there was not one, but three lions that followed Lewa into the room, one leading and two flanking. Azra tried to suppress her anger, but in vain—her body went rigid and her eyes bulged. Clearblue caught an image of Azra’s hyena building itself for battle: its hair on end, its shoulders wound near to bursting with defensive energy. Not good. She took Azra’s hand and tried to use her own hyena to calm the other Oba’s.

The lions found this all too amusing. Their leader grinned and said, “You expected me to come alone. Very poor form.”

Before Azra could answer, Anita stood, her body language screaming her annoyance. “Is there somewhere else we can have this meeting? There are _way_ too many bodies in here.”

“Agreed. We can retire downstairs.” Nazir made his way through the room and opened a door to reveal a flight of stairs; he flicked a light switch and the stairwell lit up.

Without any further announcement, he descended, and the rest of the party followed. Clearblue and Azra were last, fingers still interlocked, and Azra let her anger fade momentarily to worry. Clearblue smiled and squeezed her hand, and hoped it came across as encouragement.

The basement level was fully furnished and about ten degrees cooler, a welcome change. It too was all maple hardwood, though from the more muffled sounds their shoes made, the flooring was likely laid atop concrete. The upholstery and decorations had a rose color theme that played well against the pale yellow of the walls, and the large expanse of the room was a much better fit for the now fifteen-person meeting.

Clearblue sat beside Azra on a long sofa, with Asher and Nazir on their respective sides. Anita chose a reclining chair nearby, within arms reach if she so needed. The lion emissary sat across a coffee table in a tall-backed chair with his guards behind him. All three were over six-feet, wore loose, black cotton trousers and orange tweed vests with nothing beneath, which displayed their impressively chiseled upper bodies. The leader and the guard on the right had about the same skin tone as Lewa, while the one on the left had a coffee-and-cream complexion similar to Elise and Claire. None of the three were particularly handsome, though they definitely had the physiques to dance at Guilty Pleasures.

“I am Kanja, Rex of the Tamboti Pride, Diallo’s dominant and envoy. He regrets that he cannot join you himself.” His voice was softer than expected, and pleasantly accented, his English so graceful it was no wonder he was the designated representative.

Azra was having none of it, though. “Oh, yes, I am sure he regrets it terribly.” If words could cut the floor would’ve been splattered. “Your master must be truly shameless: turning a blind eye to rising hyena deaths, and then denying me the respect of attending himself.”

“I apologize for his absence, though I have full authority to conduct this conference on his behalf.”

“Then you may start by explaining what is more important to Diallo than meeting with another were leader.”

Kanja produced an only slightly conciliatory smile. “I am sorry, Oba, that is lion business. I can only say that Diallo has had his hands full for some time now.”

Azra closed her eyes and had to visibly control herself. Clearblue, still holding her hand, was hit with a scalding wave of anger that roiled through her beast and almost jolted her out of her seat.

She recovered quickly and straightened her shoulders. “Alright, I guess that’s my cue. Nazir and Azra would like to know why Diallo has been so nonchalant and uncooperative at the deaths of numerous hyenas over the past few months. Perhaps you could enlighten us?”

The Rex narrowed his eyes. “And you are?”

“Clearblue, Oba of the Kabultiloa Clan of St. Louis, United States. I am here supporting Azra.”

“The Idrisid have gone international, have they?”

Nazir spat a curse in Arabic, followed by, “I suggest you stop stalling. I am getting impatient.”

Kanja’s mouth quirked. “One would think an aged vampire would have refined his patience by now.”

Azra beat Nazir to the punch with a deep, trembling growl. Spurred by her anger, her beast’s energy finally ruptured and tumbled out full force into the room. “ _Listen_ , cat, your leader sent you here to represent your pride, and you are doing a poor job thus far. You will participate in this discussion or you are not welcome in my home.”

Clearblue let go of Azra’s hand in an attempt to soothe her own hyena—not the easiest thing with a vibrating preternatural powerhouse beside her.

“Control yourself, Oba.” There was no longer even the façade of etiquette in his voice.

Azra launched from the sofa and took two steps in his direction. “Control myself, should I? And what have I been doing until this moment? I have swallowed the lions’ aggression long enough; now it is time for explanation and resolution. What is Diallo’s motive? My lands? My power?”

The lion stood from his chair. “Are you offering?”

Azra started, taken aback. “No.”

“Then we cannot move forward.”

“Move forward?” Clearblue asked.

“In peace negotiations,” Kanja said simply.

A revolted expression overtook Azra’s face. “Then, you _are_ responsible for the deaths?”

He grinned cruelly and shrugged.

Azra loosed a slew of Arabic (what could only be curses and derogatory remarks), and ended the tirade with, “Mangy cat!” Her energy expounded, churned thickly through the air, and made it difficult to breathe.

Kanja was prepared. He threw out his own beast, slammed his lion against Azra with a metaphysical roar. The room might as well have been on fire. Clearblue’s chest clenched as her lioness plodded out of its cave to stand beside her hyena, both ready and watching the show. There was an old rivalry here, old as the dust and rain of the Serengeti. Azra pushed harder and her hyena’s energy spilled around her in a dazzling hologram image, snarling and hissing in a feverish rage.

A ripping sound made Clearblue turn toward her posse: it was Bacchus, just shifted and lying on the floor with his head between his paws. Claire clutched her sister desperately, whimpering as her flesh rolled with the contours of her beast. Elise was trying to hang on, trying to be strong for Claire, but wasn’t doing much better at fending off Azra’s consuming energy. Sara had retreated into meditation and seemed to be holding out for the time being.

There was another noise from the left, one that didn’t fit with the guttural growls of the alphas. It was high-pitched, like a scream but not quite as piercing.

Then, Asher’s voice: “Anita!”

He suddenly grabbed Clearblue’s arm, and she whipped her head around in time to see Anita fall heavily to the floor.

**Chapter 11: Cat Out of the Bag**

Anita fell out of her chair with a _thud_ , her face in agonized paralysis. Clearblue hastily knelt beside her, instinctively cupped a hand behind her head, and watched in horror as claw marks manifested on her exposed skin—one moment her chest was unblemished, the next, covered in mean, bleeding wounds. Unquestioningly, she placed her free hand above Anita’s abdomen and unlocked the healing energy at her center. She began to let it flow, but Asher crouched beside her.

“Kanja’s lion is calling Anita’s lioness. So long as his beast is present, you cannot stop this; you can heal her wounds, but it will not quiet her lioness.”

She turned to him with frightened eyes.

His gaze flicked to Kanja and Azra, still in the throes of their metaphysical face-off. “Make him stop. Anita has never shifted to one of her animals, and she cannot afford to start now. You have to make him withdraw his beast.”

“But—how?”

“However you repelled Belle Morte when she tried to call your cats.”

Anita’s groans grew more pained, her bleeding more pronounced. The fabric of her blouse covering her stomach was an expanding red stain, and her limbs flailed.

Asher looked down to Anita and his expression darkened. “You must do this, Clearblue. Do it now.”

Clearblue nodded and stood. She closed her eyes and looked inward to her lioness and hyena standing shoulder-to-shoulder curiously eyeing the spectacle. _Hush_ , she told her hyena, who obediently sat on the ground. _Come_ , to her lioness, and the beast trotted forward, ascending upward, slowly filling her.

The first stream of feline energy trickled out and Kanja glanced in her direction, confusion flashing in his face—but that one instant allowed Azra the advantage she needed. She took another step toward him and bore down, her hologram hyena gnashing its teeth and spewing spittle. With that burst of power, Kanja lost his balance and nearly fell, and Clearblue knew this was her chance. She opened herself and gave her lioness full rein. She felt hot wind rustle her sandy fur as it blew through the plains, carrying with it bits of grass and the lovely, heady scent of rain some days away. She heard insects drumming among the dry brush, and some buzzed around her whiskers and eyes that she continually shook away. But most of all, there was the heat: that pressing force always on her hide, wrapped around her like an extra layer of fur. Her lioness brought the heat with her when she came. It seeped up through her skin, like an all-over sunburn, and wafted from her body, imbued the room with the torturous presence of the sun.

Though she kept her eyes closed, Clearblue knew her lioness was above her, its citrine eyes surveying keenly over its triangular snout. It found Kanja in a heartbeat and snarled, not in anger or defense—just to display. Kanja faltered at the sight and Azra pushed her beast again, sending him crashing into his chair. It was enough to disrupt his concentration and his lion’s energy was consequently snuffed out.

Her lioness grinned, conveniently displaying canine teeth. _Not so tough, this one_. The beast’s satisfaction swelled through her in a rush and only ebbed as its energy receded, sinking back to its cave in her mind.

“Clearblue,” Asher said softly. He hadn’t moved from the floor with Anita, whose beast had thankfully retreated, but at a cost: she had razor-like slashes all over, blood smeared across her arms and chest, and soaked so thoroughly through her blouse that it looked as if she had showered with her clothes on. “She has lost a good deal of blood.”

Clearblue sat beside them and found he was right: Anita was still bleeding from a few of the cuts, and her eyelids fluttered somewhat erratically. She placed her hands over Anita’s stomach and kindled the cool, tingling sensation nestled within. It came foaming up and she channeled it out and into Anita. Immediately the wounds stopped bleeding and shortly thereafter began to close. A minute later, dried blood was the only evidence to her ordeal, and she sat up with Asher’s guiding hands at her back.

Anita put a hand to her head. “Jesus Christ.”

“What the hell _is_ this?” Kanja demanded. He was standing again, his dominants alert behind him.

Clearblue didn’t like his tone; she didn’t like his arrogance; she didn’t like his spiteful air. Her lioness liked it even less. _Who is he to act this way?_ In a blink the feline’s energy returned, pulsing in her veins, and she turned to face him. “You have some nerve.”

Kanja muttered something in Swahili and narrowed his eyes. “What are you? How is it you carry hyena _and_ lion?”

She offered no reply but to stare at him, her expression as inhospitable as a slab of stone.

He turned to Azra, who had retaken her seat on the sofa. “Who have you aligned yourself with, Oba?”

Azra shrugged and smiled, mimicking his earlier action.

Kanja’s temper skyrocketed. “I want answers!” he bellowed.

“No, _I_ want answers—or do you forget the purpose of this visit? You expect everything when you have given nothing. Typical lion.” She flipped the back of her hand at him in a _be gone_ gesture. “We are done here.”

His chest heaved with such effort he looked ready to explode.

Clearblue loosened her lioness again in response. “Don’t you dare.”

Without another word, Kanja turned on his heel and marched up the basement stairs to the main level, his befuddled dominants in tow. The _slam_ of the front door resonated through the house’s very foundation.

**Chapter 12: Interruption**

_Upset_ was a severe understatement of Anita’s mood when they left Azra’s house. She was so thoroughly displeased that she maintained a glaring version of _the look_ for the entire journey. Worse yet, she wouldn’t speak—not in the car anyway.

Anita shoved her keycard into the lock and swung open the door to her room. She stood stiffly in the threshold and nodded Asher and Clearblue in before her. The hyena alphas and Bacchus (who wore an outfit borrowed from Nazir) retreated, wisely, without a word into their own rooms.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!” Anita muttered when the three were alone. She immediately began to pace. Clearblue and Asher sat beside one another on the bed closest to her. Clearblue looked to him for help.

Asher took a breath and said softly, “Anita.”

She collapsed on the other bed and rubbed hands over her face. “For Christ’s sake, _don’t_ tell me it’s okay, Asher, because it’s not.”

“It was a close call, _oui_ , but it is over now, and everyone is recovered.” His voice dripped with honey and the positive energy he projected at her was almost overwhelming.

“What the fuck am I gonna do tomorrow night? Kanja almost brought my lioness. I’ve never felt so close to turning before. How can I walk into a lion meeting?”

“You need to feed. Remember Marianne’s teaching: feeding one of your hungers will help satiate the others. Satisfy the _ardeur_ with Bacchus tonight and you can better control your beasts.”

Before Anita could reply, her laptop beeped repetitively from the desk in the corner.

“Oh, perfect. That’s Jean-Claude on the video-chat.” She sighed. “No doubt he and Richard felt what happened. Can you excuse me? He’s going to give me the third degree and I prefer not to have an audience.”

“Of course,” Clearblue said, and stood along with Asher. “I’ll let Bacchus know you’ll need him soon.”

Anita nodded as she took the call.

“ _Ma petite!_ What on Earth . . .” Jean-Claude’s voice drained away when they stepped into the hall and pulled the door shut.

Clearblue closed her eyes and put a hand to her forehead. “Shit. He certainly won’t be happy with me.”

Asher chuckled. “Well, that cannot be helped. Anita acquires abilities like miles on a car—she barely has control of one before she needs to learn anew. We should have been more prepared, it is true, but we did the best we could in the circumstance, and we cannot dwell on it. Jean may be initially angry, but he too realizes this.”

She cocked her head at him. “You’re oddly upbeat—wait, hold that thought,” she said before she knocked on Bacchus’s door.

He answered promptly, looking a good mix tired and worried. “Is Anita okay?”

“Yes, or, she will be. She’ll need you to feed the _ardeur_ when she finishes talking with Jean-Claude.”

“Oh.” He blushed. “Alright.”

Clearblue cupped her hand to his cheek. “Thank you, Bach. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” Bacchus closed his door.

Clearblue turned to Asher and he offered her his arm. They walked the short distance to his door, and she followed him into his room to finish their conversation.

“So, what gives?” She sat on the easy chair accompanying the desk and folded her hands in her lap.

A smirk pulled at his lips like a fishhook as he looked at her. “My optimism? Is it really so out of character for me?”

“No offense, but, yes. You usually come down on the realistic side of things.”

He paused and looked at her with weight. “If I answer honestly, will you please try to contain yourself?”

She scrunched her nose in confusion. “Uh, sure.”

“Your response is none too reassuring, but no matter.” He moved closer to her chair. “Perhaps my attitude has improved with your company. Are you aware this is the longest we have spent together since our falling out?”

Clearblue blinked. “You’re more optimistic because we’ve been spending time together?”

He stood before her, their bodies inches apart. “I have missed you, Clearblue. It does wonders for my spirit to have you near.” Following a beat of hesitation, he reached out slowly and stroked his thumb along her jaw line. “And I know you have missed me as well—what happened between us this afternoon is proof of that.”

She stood in a rush, suddenly indignant. “What happened this afternoon was . . .”

But Asher pulled her against him with such vigor that the words fell from her lips and she could do nothing but stare into his ice-blue eyes. She felt it again as she had earlier: the magnetism between them ripped through her with the surge of an undertow. She remembered the bliss of hearing him whisper to her in French after making love; the passion of their lips moving together; how he held her in bed until she fell asleep.

Time knotted around them as they stood with bodies pressed together, silently gazing at one another. His arm was around her waist while his other hand perched on her shoulder, brushing fingers along her neck. Clearblue laid her palms on the breasts of his tux, and then slipped them beneath the jacket to feel the hard lines of his chest. She drew a shuddering breath, and his grip tightened in response.

His lips fluttered across her forehead and touched her cheeks briefly before they stopped by her ear. “ _Ma saphir_ ,” he whispered. “Come back to me.”

Her eyes swimming, she tipped up her face to his and traced a finger along his lower lip—and then they both jumped at the _bang_ on the bedroom door.

“Asher!” There was no mistaking Anita’s voice, nor the unease in it. “Clearblue?” She pounded again. “Let me in!”

Asher did as she asked, and Clearblue fleetingly caught sight of Elise poking her head into the hallway before Anita darted inside the room.

She was physically agitated, shaking, as if she had finally downed one coffee too many.

Clearblue couldn’t hide her concern. “What’s going on?”

“Funny,” Anita replied between labored breaths, “I was gonna ask you the same thing.”

**Chapter 13: _Ardeur_ Addition**

“What do you mean, ask us?”

Anita crossed her arms under her breasts and scrutinized them. “What were you two doing in here?”

“N-nothing.” But Clearblue’s blush betrayed her.

She shook her head. “No, _something_ happened. What was it?”

“Clearblue is correct: nothing transpired between us. Can you describe what it was you felt?” Asher interjected.

“I had just hung up with Jean-Claude and was in the hallway to get Bacchus when I felt this cloud of energy burst from your room. It tasted like the lust I feed on at Guilty Pleasures, but it was . . . I dunno— _denser_ , more filling.” Anita paused in thought. “Do exactly what you were doing before I came in.”

“I don’t think—”

“This is important, Clearblue. Please, just do it.” Anita’s tone didn’t leave room for argument.

Her cheeks went hot again, but she turned to Asher and placed her hands on his chest as she had before. He slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her slowly in to him, aligning the lengths of their bodies. He swept fingers along her collarbone and he blocked Anita from view by leaning down to press his lips to her ear.

“Pretend it is just you and I,” he whispered.

Clearblue shivered and combed her fingertips through his hair. Asher bent lower and kissed her neck and just barely scraped one fang across the tenuous skin there, teasing. The remembered thrill of feeding him thrummed through her: having him inside her as many ways as possible and the immense pleasure of his bite drove her mad with desire. She exhaled a jagged breath against his shoulder, and a moan escaped with it—in stereo. Asher straightened and stepped away from her enough to reveal Anita backed against the wall, nails clawing at anything tangible. She had moaned in unison with Clearblue, and continued to mewl quietly with her eyes closed.

“Anita?” Asher asked.

Anita gulped air and tried to collect herself. “Yep, that’s it.”

“That’s what?” Clearblue’s voice faltered a bit, still laden with arousal.

“What I felt in the hallway. It’s like lust in the way my _ardeur_ reacts to it, but it has a different texture, a different flavor.” She narrowed her eyes. “Are you two sleeping together?”

Clearblue jumped away from Asher as a flush crept up her chest. “No.”

Her eyes oscillated as she thought. “So, I’m picking up on your . . . sexual tension?”

“ _Oui_ , perhaps it is our passion that we have tried to defeat,” Asher supplied. And then after a pause, “If that is truly what is happening.”

“Maybe, but why now? You two have had tension between you for a while.”

Asher looked solidly at Clearblue. “Yes, but we are only now beginning to overcome it.”

Clearblue’s anger returned like a flashflood. “I think that’s a stretch!”

“Is it?” Asher moved at vampire speed and was instantly behind her, one arm encircling her ribs and one at her waist. He ran his tongue lightly along the curve of her ear and murmured, “Tell me your body is not screaming for me.”

“My body is not . . .” She couldn’t finish—not because it was a lie; because she couldn’t speak past the arousal.

Everything was swollen again: her throat, her breasts, her cunt, all hot and beating in one unified pulse. She knew he felt it, knew her arousal aroused him in turn, and she hated herself a little for liking it. Asher was the only lover who could read her body fluently and respond in precisely the way she craved. It was intoxicating. But inconvenient.

He held her closer against him and she felt his excitement pressed against her ass—but it was Anita who moaned.

“God!” Anita was once more against the wall, one hand pulling at her hair, while the other fondled her own breast. Her back arched wildly and she threw her exasperated cries to the ceiling.

Asher released Clearblue and she took a breath, as did Anita.

“That’s it, I need Bacchus.” Her voice was heady, her breathing quick. “The _ardeur_ is alive and kicking now. The desire in both of you is so strong, like a generator, and I’m the one trapped in the heat.” She smoothed her hair and straightened her blouse before she moved toward the exit. “My room is right next door—if you two want to avoid the effect of the _ardeur_ , I suggest you relocate.”

**Chapter 14: Mid-Afternoon Meltdown**

Jamie plowed through the kitchen door boiling with frustration. “Hey, I needed that ham on wheat ten minutes ago!” he blustered.

The plump but efficient line cook wiped his brow with the towel he kept slung over his shoulder and shook his head. “Ham on wheat? I don’t have that order, man. You’ll hafta put it in again.”

The bistro’s new day manager hadn’t anticipated their lunch rush and had only scheduled two cooks and three servers for the entire afternoon. As a result, they’d been weeded since ten o’ clock.

“Fuck, Mel! Table eight’s been waiting for twenty minutes!” Jamie closed his eyes at the emergence of an intense wash of anger and tried to keep from smashing something.

Mel raised bushy eyebrows at Jamie’s tone. “Relax, son. I’ll make it fer ya now.” True to his word, he fit a slab of ham on the meat slicer and began the task. “What’s up? The city finally gettin’ to ya, farm boy?” He grinned, but Jamie wasn’t in the mood.

“Lemme know when it’s done.” Jamie turned on his heel and left, to the astonishment of the cook.

Somewhere in the back of his head he knew this wasn’t right. He’d been slammed at work plenty of times with no problem—hell, he liked it, sometimes _wished_ for a boom like this one. Food service was thankless drudgery and the only way to make real money was performing well under the stress of a line of hungry people out the door with a forty-minute wait up front. He worked well under pressure: he was always willing to help out the other servers and even the kitchen staff, which is how he became friendly with Mel.

But today, something was off. Today, he wasn’t feeling generous; he just wanted to take care of his own shit and get the fuck out of there. He first realized it when he had to consciously keep from snapping at indecisive customers, tables who asked questions about the food’s preparation, and which beers to pair with which entrees.

He stopped by the table waiting for the ham on wheat and apologized quickly, then excused himself before they could complain. He knew he’d probably just lost half his tip, but he was full to the brim with a cocktail of anxiety, frustration, and sheer anger and almost couldn’t stand to be in the building anymore. And then came the tipping point. The host, Rachel, sat another party of four in his section. That gave him seven open tables, five of which were four-tops. The customers sat down and eagerly glanced over their menus. While he had the time, Jamie intercepted Rachel and pulled her aside.

“What _the hell_ do you think you’re doing?” He crossed his arms, his face carved with obvious ire.

Rachel flinched at his expression. “You’re the strongest server, Jamie. Adam’s already screwed up three orders—he can’t take another table right now.”

“Yeah, and what about me? You assume I can just pick up the slack? You’re goddamn inconsiderate.”

“This isn’t _my_ fault!” she shot back with equal vigor. “Terry’s the one who fucked the schedule—if you wanna let off steam, aim it in _his_ direction.”

Jamie inhaled a deep, quaking breath. “God, you hosts are all the same! You think you can do whatever you want, and the servers will take care of it. _We’re_ the ones doing the work, making the tips so y’all can get paid! Why don’t you show some fucking respect and not screw me more than I already am!” Rachel’s eyes shone with tears and he realized he’d been shouting.

He took a step back, then another, all the while breathing like he was running a marathon—he felt ready to explode. A part of him knew she wasn’t to blame; she was just doing her job the best she could, adapting to the circumstance. He _knew_ that, rationally. But he couldn’t get a grip on the waves of emotion crashing through his chest. He scanned the humming mass of people in the restaurant and remembered with dismay that he was on until five. It was only one. His heart raced at the thought of wading through this mayhem for another four hours.

 _Shitfuckballs. I can’t do this._ He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed a co-worker’s number. Thankfully, she answered.

“Cindy, I’m at work—I need you to cover for me.”

“Christ, Jamie, you can’t—”

“It’s an emergency; I think I’m having a panic attack.”

He wasn’t sure if his words or the high, spindly sound of his voice swayed her, but she agreed. “Okay, okay. I’ll be there in ten.”

“Thank you.”

Because he didn’t know what else to do, the next call he made was to Tanya. When she didn’t pick up, he texted her: _Something’s wrong, I need help._

She replied shortly: _I’m in class until 1:30. Come to campus and I can meet you in the quad. We’ll talk about it._

_OK._

That relieved him somewhat, though his heart continued to thump as if trying to make a break for it.

**Chapter 15: Breakthrough**

Clearblue smiled briefly at the receptionist as she passed through the lobby in a flutter. She spotted an empty patio off one of the common area sitting rooms and made a beeline for it. Goosebumps popped up along her arms, but the chill air felt good otherwise—away from the heat of her animals and the _ardeur_ unleashed upstairs.

She exhaled a long breath and her fingers went instinctively to the bun at her neck. She unwound her hair and shook it out, then let it hang loose to her middle back. She stood at a wrought-iron railing and a breeze blew through her locks and ruffled her skirt, carrying the mingled scent of iris and laurel from the garden beyond. It was only March, yet a few flower buds had already poked out from the bushes and trees that lined a winding stone pathway some yards off.

“Clearblue—”

She started and spun around to glare at Asher. “Shit! You couldn’t have made a little noise?”

He sighed. “I apologize.”

“What is it? You want to hear my body ‘scream for you’ again?” With effort, she kept her anger at bay.

“Please. We need to talk about this.”

“Oh? You mean about how for the last two weeks you’ve been pissy about my tryst with J.J., and now suddenly you’re all over me?”

“Again, I apologize.”

“Just stop it.” She crossed her arms and turned back to the garden.

Asher moved beside her. He had taken out the ribbon that bound his hair when they first returned to the hotel, and now unknotted his bow tie so that it hung in two shimmering crimson lines against the black of his shirt. “Why _did_ you sleep with her?” His voice was soft yet deadly-serious.

Clearblue was a bit shocked by the subject, but answered anyway. “I was—am—attracted to her. She’s carefree and easy to be around; I think I was attracted to that most of all.” She hesitated, but decided there was nothing left to lose in the truth. “That night at Danse, talking with Jason and J.J., it reminded me of the way my life was, how simple it used to be, before . . .”

“Before I complicated it,” he supplied.

She looked at him then. “Before _I_ complicated it. I chose to be Oba, Asher. No one had a gun to my head. I could’ve turned it down.”

He leaned over and rested his forearms on the railing, studying the dark foliage. “I suppose you could have, _oui_ , but I placed you in a difficult position. I had to occupy myself somehow on that damned long flight, and so thought much on this. I am responsible for the majority of your life changes. I acted primarily for my own benefit, knowing my choices would greatly affect you. I was attracted to you from our first meeting, but did not begin to care for you until after the ball was in motion, so to speak.” He paused to slide the tie from his collar and run it through his fingers. “And here you are, the compassionate, respected Oba Narcissus could never be, as well as a strong and supportive ally to Jean-Claude and Anita. Now, it is a fitting punishment I reap: driving you away when I want nothing more than to make you mine.” He met her eyes, and his regret was plain.

Her vision blurred at his words. “You have never been so frank with me.”

He shrugged.

“Tell me why you slept with Clover. I spent so much time and energy being angry that I never asked you why.”

Asher chuckled bitterly under his breath. “I wanted too much. I wanted everything; I always have. I desired Jean-Claude so badly I lured him into a relationship at the expense of a woman’s life. Juliana died twice because of my selfishness. And when he found the strength to start fresh in the New World, I resented it, and wanted him even more. I knew he loved Anita the first time I saw them together, but it did not deter me. I reminded Jean-Claude of what we had, I made Anita love me too, and eventually found my way into their bed. Yet, that still was not enough. I pushed Anita to the limit of her toleration to get what _I_ wanted. I have shoved and elbowed my way through the lives of the people I love to satisfy myself. You are the first person in a long time to refuse to put up with it.” He looked down to the tie bundled in his hands. “With Clover . . . I was used to being accommodated; I did not think of the ramifications. I am sorry for hurting you as thoroughly as I have, Clearblue.”

“So, you don’t . . . care for him,” she said unsteadily.

“ _Non_ , not the way I care for Jean and Anita and you. Clover is an affable person, though with us it was only physical attraction.”

“Well, that was a hell of an apology.”

He nodded vaguely. “For whatever it is worth.”

“It’s worth a lot.” She moved closer to him and combed back the hair from the right side of his face. Though the scars were gone, the habit persisted. “Speaking as a therapist, I’d say you’ve reached your breakthrough.”

“And speaking as yourself?”

She stood on her toes and placed a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered.

When she didn’t move away immediately, he reached his arms around her waist and embraced her, and buried his nose and mouth in her hair.

**Chapter 16: Driver’s Ed**

After Cindy relieved him at work, Jamie found street parking on one of the residential roads bordering Washington University’s central quad. He jogged up a grass hill, around the back of a building, and stepped into a busy intersection of undergrads surging through the square near a beautifully prominent yet imposing lecture hall. It was one-thirty when he sat on a wooden bench—the time Tanya said her class let out—and he wasn’t sure how far away she was, so he waited, with a diminished though still present thumping anxiety in his chest.

“Jamie?” said a voice to his left.

A hand fell on his shoulder and he turned to see Clover standing over him. “Oh, hey.”

“What are you doing here?”

Jamie countered with, “What are _you_ doing here?”

Clover laughed. “I’m a professor.” He gestured to his ensemble of gray slacks and pink button-up. “English literature and philosophy.”

“Wow, I didn’t know. I guess in all that talk about hyenas I never asked about your job. I’m here waiting for Tanya.”

He sat beside him. “Anything the matter?”

“I’m not sure. I worked for a while today, but I just . . . I dunno, got really angry and frustrated.” He sighed. “See, the bistro just hired this new manager, who screwed up our schedules. The lunch rush killed; I can usually handle it, but today for some reason I couldn’t. So, I called Tanya to talk and she asked me to meet her here.”

Clover was nodding while he spoke. “Good idea. It’s probably due to the full moon tomorrow night. Extreme emotion can rile your beast, and vice-versa. With the moon so close, it’s not surprising you were hit with this intense frustration.” He checked his watch. “Hey, my class starts in ten minutes; can we continue this later?”

“Sure.” Jamie smiled.

“Great. I’m glad you’re reaching out for support, Jamie. Let me know how it goes with Tanya.” He stood from the bench.

“Alright. See ya later.”

Clover waved as he strode off, hopping up a brick staircase two steps at a time—just as Jamie spotted Tanya headed toward him.

She smiled brightly as she approached and joined him on the bench. “Was that Clover?”

“Yeah, he saw me and came over. I didn’t know he worked here.”

“Yep. I’m actually enrolled in one of his classes this semester—he’s an amazing professor.”

“What are you studying?”

“Political science with a minor in English.”

Jamie nodded.

Her expression turned serious. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“I got overwhelmed at work. We were really busy; I had seven tables and the kitchen was short-staffed. I just suddenly couldn’t handle it—had to call another server to cover for me. I mean, my heart was pounding like I’d downed three Redbulls in a row. Clover said it’s because the full moon is tomorrow, and high stress stirs my beast.”

“That’s true, and I’m sorry to tell you that you’ll be dealing with this problem for a while, until you learn to control your hyena.”

His eyes went wide. “How long is a while?”

“Probably a year or more.”

“Fuck!”

“I know, it sucks. But there are tricks to dealing with it, like stepping outside for a few minutes. Have you noticed you’ve calmed down since getting out of the restaurant?”

Jamie cocked his head. “Yeah, I have somewhat. That’s interesting.”

“Since they’re wild, beasts prefer the outdoors. Being inside can make them feel caged and it exacerbates their moods. While I was dropped out of school, I worked in a restaurant in Gadsden and I remember how difficult it was keeping control when we got especially slammed. I would tell my manager I needed a ‘smoke break’ and just walk around a bit in the parking lot. It helped like you wouldn’t believe. Sometimes, if I knew it would be a really bad night, I would shift and go for a run beforehand. That’s trick number two: exercising your beast so it doesn’t react as strongly under stress.”

“That makes sense.”

“And the obvious one is avoiding stressful situations as often as possible, especially near the full moon. Could you find another job that’s more low-maintenance?”

“Well—” he sighed— “I suppose I could try for an office job, but I don’t know who would hire me with only a high school diploma. I’ve worked at that bistro for three years, since I was seventeen. I know how to do the job, I’m one of the best, and I make decent money.”

“Have you thought about college?”

He shook his head. “My parents can’t afford it. We grew up lower-middle class in the country; I have two younger siblings. The best they could manage was buying me a used car for my eighteenth birthday. I’ve saved up a good chunk of change with a mind to go to school, but I don’t have as much as I’d like.”

This gave Tanya pause. A middle-class country kid, like her. But unlike her, without the means to pursue higher education. She studied him closely, really _looked_ at him: warm chocolate skin that almost glowed in the sun, black curly hair cut close to his head in a clean buzz, a rectangular masculine face with hard lines and russet-brown oval eyes, and broad muscled shoulders that carried his six-three frame impeccably well.

“What about student loans? Or scholarships? Maybe this hyena thing is the kick you need to start applying to schools.”

Jamie ran hands over his face. “Maybe. I’m gonna have to figure something out, that’s for sure. I can’t have another episode like I did today. Some days, like this morning, I wake up and don’t even think about the hyena thing. I feel the same, most of the time. It’s so easy to forget about it. Then I remember and I’m scared again.”

She thought for a moment. “Is your car manual or automatic?”

“Manual. Why?”

“Getting used to being a were is like learning to drive stick. At first, it’s really intimidating: you’re in charge of this thing, trying to pump the clutch and shift gears in succession. You have to feel the way the car moves, listen to the sounds of the engine. Remember the first few times out on the road?” She laughed. “I stalled my car God-knows-how many times before I got the hang of it. Having a beast is the same. Once you master it, you’ll stop noticing _what_ you’re doing and just _do_ it, naturally. I won’t lie: it’ll be tough, but in a year’s time you'll wonder why in the world you were so nervous.”

Jamie grinned and opened his mouth to reply, but his stomach gurgled loudly, and he blushed. “Sorry. I haven’t eaten in a while.”

“Oh, that’s another trick: you need to keep your body well-fed. If you go too long without food, you’ll agitate your beast. Wanna grab lunch?”

“Sure.”

**Chapter 17: Concession**

Clearblue returned to her room to find Anita mid-conversation with Micah on the laptop and Bacchus passed out on her bed.

Anita turned to her. “Perfect timing.”

“Clearblue’s there?” Micah asked.

“She just walked in.”

“Well I’m afraid all I have is bad news: I couldn’t find anything relevant to the southern African prides. I talked with some of our lions. I talked with Jean-Claude, Ming-Dei, Damian, even Auggie—no one can shed light on who the prides there associate with.”

“Damn.” Anita thought. “What about the way lions and hyenas interact in the wild?”

“That’s easier. Hyenas have a bad rap for being lazy scavengers, when in reality scavenging is only a part of their diet. They frequently make their own kills—though their meals are sometimes hijacked by lions, which are the bigger animal. The two share much of the same territory, prey, and hunting habits, but hyenas are more nocturnal.”

“So, basically, they’re competitor predators,” Anita summarized.

“You got it.”

She sighed. “Shit. That’s not good.”

“Did you figure out what the lions want? Why they’re being so hostile?”

Clearblue grabbed a chair and sat beside her. “Kanja alluded to Diallo wanting the hyenas’ land and connections, which is what Azra suspected from the beginning. And it’s looking more likely that they kidnapped Tahira.”

Anita glanced at her. “But we don’t know that for a fact.”

Clearblue shrugged.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be more helpful; I’ll keep searching.”

“Oh, talk to Louie—he may have some leads.”

Micah snapped his fingers, annoyed. “Why didn’t _I_ think of that? Alright, I get on it.”

“Okay, see ya.”

“I love you, Anita. We miss you.”

Clearblue took that as her cue to check on Bacchus. She sat on the mattress beside his outstretched body, near his head.

Anita murmured: “I love you too. Say ‘hi’ to the guys for me.” She closed the laptop and turned toward Clearblue stroking Bacchus’s hair. “We didn’t plan this trip very well at all—look at him, he’s exhausted, and I could’ve fed the _ardeur_ even more if I thought he could handle it. For now, it’s satisfied, not sated. We should’ve brought someone stronger.” She put a hand to her forehead and closed her eyes. “And I was really counting on Micah to find us some information.”

Clearblue looked down at the sleeping hyena. “You know we needed Bacchus because of his Arabic, and he knows the culture. It’s just bad luck that male hyenas are more submissive.” She paused and her gaze shifted to her lap. “If you need to feed more, use Asher.”

Anita knew a loaded statement when she heard one, and sat silently blinking at her for a good five seconds. “You know what the _ardeur_ needs, right?”

“. . . Sex.”

She cocked her head. “Am I missing something?”

“Asher and I talked about . . . well, a lot of things, just recently. He apologized for everything he was responsible for, and I accepted. I was surprised at how much I needed to hear it—” she choked out a laugh— “We’re in a good place now, but he seems so lonely. And if he hasn’t been with you or Jean-Claude in months . . .”

“Now you want to get your vicarious freak on?”

Clearblue colored and concentrated harder on her lap. “No, I just thought, you need to feed more, and he needs reassurance. And whereas I would probably be pissed if you fucked him behind my back, after our talk, I’m okay with it.”

Anita crossed to the bed and stood before her. She tipped up the other woman’s chin to meet her gaze. “If this is some kind of passive-aggressive tactic, stop.”

She shook her head. “It’s not. Asher loves you. Go to him. Please.”

Anita studied the earnest shine in her eyes and nodded.

**Chapter 18: Caught**

Anita left for Asher’s room, shooting her a last pensive glance before she did so. Clearblue smiled and shooed her out, and then waited a few moments. When Anita didn’t reenter, she decided it was best she return to the lobby or the patio while they had their moment, and walked toward the door—when the courtesy phone on the nightstand rang out shrilly.

She backtracked the lifted the receiver. “Hello?”

“Hello, Ms. Aldan. This is Samira at the front desk. I have Ms. Mahnoor on hold. Would you like to take the call?”

“Yes, please.”

The line connected and Azra’s lovely accent greeted her: “Clearblue, good evening.”

“Hi Azra; what’s up?”

She didn’t answer the question right away. “I trust Anita is doing well? Healed?”

“Yes, thank you for asking.”

“I am glad of it.” Then her tone changed. “I am so sorry to—how do you say?—spring this on you, but I have arranged a flight to depart in seven hours, at five AM. We are flying from the Fes International Airport, and we must leave here at four.”

Clearblue leapt up from the bed. “ _What?_ To where? Why so soon?”

“Pepel, Sierra Leone, Diallo’s headquarters. And we must move quickly, before Diallo has the chance to act: I do not doubt Kanja has already conveyed what happened earlier. I assumed Asher was not a daywalker and so have made a coffin ready for him. I will arrive with cars at quarter to four and we will set off together.”

“But—”

“I advise you to nap in the meantime, and of course we will have the opportunity to catch up on sleep at our hotel in Pepel. We can discuss everything else once we arrive. Goodnight.”

Azra hung up and left Clearblue staring at the phone receiver in her hand. “Shit!” she said, flabbergasted, to the empty room.

She replaced the phone on its cradle and was halfway to the door on the way to speak to her alphas, but suddenly, there was yet another reason to curse: all at once she was beneath an ocean of desire, crushing her with its persuasive pressure.

“What the . . . ?”

Too late—she was netted and dragged, snared by a force that chimed in her very core and swept her up so easily it was almost laughable. Before she realized it, she’d grabbed the spare key to Asher’s room and was standing outside his door, enthralled by the faint sounds of pleasure echoing within. Each of those moans reverberated between her thighs.

She unlocked the door and slid silently inside. She dropped the key to the floor and stepped out of her shoes, followed quickly by her dress and slip: a trail of garments burning a path to the bed.

Asher had Anita on all fours and pumped into her from behind: Anita tossed her head back and moaned wildly while keeping a hand on the headboard for support. When Asher spotted Clearblue, he slowed in surprise.

Anita grew impatient and screamed: “Don’t stop!”

Clearblue smiled wickedly at him, and he continued the task. Moments later Anita came, hard, from the sound of it, and collapsed onto her back, panting. Clearblue didn’t—couldn’t—wait for an interrogation: she climbed atop the bed and went to Asher. She knelt inches away from his sweat-dappled chest and caressed fingertips down from his collarbones, teased his nipples, and wrapped a hand firmly around his still-present erection.

Asher drew breath at her touch. “ _Cherie_. . .”

“Fuck. The _ardeur_ ’s got her,” Anita whispered behind them.

Asher didn’t reply. He brushed his thumb across Clearblue’s mouth and lowered his face to hers. Her pupils were huge: a combined result of the dark room and the adrenaline coursing through her. Their bodies were pressed together, and he felt her trembling. The soft, whimpering noises she made were so bound with need that he thought he might finish in her hand just at hearing them.

Anita cried out unintelligibly and the mattress shook. He glanced over Clearblue’s shoulder and watched her writhe, thrusting her hips into the air—but she fought against it and pulled herself to her knees at Clearblue’s back.

Anita looked steadily at Asher. “Don’t. The desire between you two is so deep, we’ll all get sucked in.” She managed to keep her voice even, despite her mounting arousal.

The expression he gave her in response was pained. She saw the deliberation on his face plain as day.

Clearblue moaned against Asher’s neck and stroked his erection. When his eyelids fluttered closed, she kissed him. It was delicate at first, but the intensity grew rapidly.

“Asher!—”

He returned her kiss, their tongues weaving from memory. Then, it was Anita who moaned as another tremor of desire wracked her. She almost fell forward onto them, but grabbed Clearblue’s shoulders to steady herself. Mistake.

Suddenly, Anita felt Asher’s lips on her mouth as if she were the one kissing him. She felt a surge of joy at being in his arms again. But most of all, she felt the hot flush of arousal that made her cunt throb and plump. When she touched herself, she found she was soaked anew.

**Chapter 19: Firsts**

Asher had already torn through Clearblue’s bra and panties and had two fingers inside her, working her to a high frenzy. Thin rivulets of blood dribbled from the corners of her lips as their mouths moved together.

Anita was hit with wave after wave of emotion, both beautiful and base: Asher’s love that bubbled up like champagne; Clearblue’s nostalgia and delight at his touch that sent her into passionate throes; both of their yearnings unmet for months—all of it passed through her like lightning through a conduit. It was akin to the sharing within her triumvirates, minus the telepathy.

Clearblue threw her head back, the picture of ecstasy across her face. “Asher,” she cried.

He smiled, and then turned her around so that she faced Anita and fondled her breasts from behind, his erection pressing hard against the small of her back. Clearblue drew fingers down Anita’s arms and giggled as she leaned in to her. Anita avoided her mouth, and Clearblue instead dabbed kisses on her cheek and neck, licking her earlobe in the process. Anita glared at Asher and tried to get his attention with the intent that he do something. But his expression was cloudy, as if he wasn’t all there, at least not in a decision-making capacity.

Then, Clearblue’s fingers glided down Anita’s abdomen and between her legs, and her quasi-panicked annoyance began to crumble away. _No!_ She had already fed—twice! Bacchus had to count for something, and Asher was always a hearty meal that kept the _ardeur_ at bay for at least forty-eight hours. There was no reason it should still be active.

As if in answer, Anita felt the first ruffle of lycanthrope energy stir in her. Her cats and wolf trotted out and began to ascend along the tree-lined path to her consciousness. Clearblue was suddenly some kind of beacon, projecting a hypnotic siren’s song through otherwise murky landscape.

Anita was so distracted by the metaphysical that she momentarily forgot the tangible. She forgot it was Clearblue’s hand on her breast, pursing her nipple, Clearblue’s fingers massaging her wet flesh, Clearblue’s hot mouth on her neck, and then her lips, tongue darting around her own.

 _This isn’t happening! How can this . . ._ Anita’s last coherent thought swooped through her forebrain before her vision faded at the edges with red haze and her rationale went on hiatus.

***

Once in a long while, the _ardeur_ was so heady it affected Anita’s memory, and every time it turned out to be a win-lose situation: though she didn’t remember everything that happened (win), she knew her actions were completely uninhibited (lose), and there was no guarantee her partners would have the same degree of memory loss (lose). It was the Jekyll-Hyde Syndrome on steroids, and she hated it. When it happened, the only bits she had to work with were fleeting twinges of the senses: a whiff of a smell, a leftover taste, bumps and bruises, and fuzzy images.

When Anita opened her eyes, she was still in Asher’s darkened room, still on the bed, and still naked. She was afraid to look around, afraid for the flashes of frayed memory to start, but knew it had to be done sometime. She glanced down the length of her body and saw the three of them overlapped like fallen dominos: Clearblue lying belly-down with her head resting upon Anita’s stomach, her arms splayed in either direction; Asher beyond, collapsed atop Clearblue’s back, his hair spilled across her shoulder blades.

The sight of them called up the first snapshot in her head—a spasm of pleasure as Clearblue buried her face between her thighs, while Asher drove into Clearblue from behind.

Really, that was all she needed to know.

**Chapter 20: New Territory**

“Shit. Shit. Shit!” Anita pressed her palms to her eyes and sat up. This roused the other two and they straightened as well. “Motherfucker!” she said with even more force.

“What . . .?” Clearblue looked between Asher and Anita on either side of her, and then glimpsed her own nudity. She felt her cheeks flare and was glad of the dimness of the room.

“The _ardeur_ ,” Asher said quietly.

Even in shadow, Clearblue saw him don blankface. Not good. She pulled fingers through her hair and focused on recalling her last memories of the night before. She remembered the conversation she and Asher had on the hotel’s garden patio. She remembered returning to the room she shared with Anita and briefly talking with Micah on video chat. She remembered Anita telling her that the _ardeur_ still needed feeding even after Bacchus, and that they had discussed her feeding on Asher. And then she remembered . . .

“No,” she whispered, more to herself than the others. Then, in a louder and more frantic voice, “What time is it?”

Anita reached over to the digital alarm clock on the nightstand and turned it toward them so they could read the glowing green numbers on its face: 3:18 AM.

“After I left for Asher’s room, why didn’t you move elsewhere?” Anita tried for a calm tone, but tension leaked out despite her best efforts.

“I was about to. I almost did. But then Azra called on the courtesy phone, and by the time we hung up . . .”

Anita was suddenly alert. “Azra? Why?”

Clearblue’s head dropped and she answered forlornly: “To tell me that we’re all flying to Sierra Leone at five this morning, and that we should be ready to leave the hotel at quarter of four.”

Asher cursed severely in French.

“You’re shitting me.” Anita stared at her.

She shook her head. “We spoke for a minute or two, and then I walked to the door to go across the hall and warn the alphas and Bacchus, but I never made it to their rooms.”

With palpable frustration, Anita closed her eyes and pressed fingers to her left temple. She took several deep breaths before a sardonic smiled crossed her lips. “Perfect. My first _ardeur_ adventure with a woman, and I’m across an ocean from my mentor-slash-therapist.”

Clearblue’s eyes bulged and her cheeks caught fire again. “Oh, Anita. You’re not . . . into women, are you?”

“Not particularly, no. Not that you were—er—bad, just, not my thing.”

“Understood.”

Asher had practically become a shadow himself, for how utterly still he was during their exchange.

“Okay.” Anita closed her eyes again, this time in concentration. “Divide and conquer: Asher and I will start packing our shit; Clearblue, you wake the hyenas and tell them to hustle.”

“Got it.”

It was a bit awkward as all three tried to climb out of bed without looking directly at one another’s nudity.

***

At quarter of four, a group of weary hyenas stood congregated with their bags in the quiet hotel lobby lit subtly by electric candelabra mounted to the walls around them. Bacchus reclined on one of the lobby’s chairs, Elise and Claire leaned on one another with drowsy eyes, and Sara sat in a relaxed meditation pose on top of her suitcase. The elevator doors opened, and Anita, Asher, and Clearblue walked out, carrying the last of the luggage. Bacchus stood and came forward to meet them; he took one of Clearblue’s bags from her.

“Thanks for helping the alphas round up their things,” she whispered discreetly to him. “I’m thankful you’re with us, Bach.” She kissed his cheek affectionately and he grinned back at her.

They joined the others, who were dressed in sweatpants and tee-shirts, the women already wearing their headscarves draped around their shoulders, at the ready for their arrival at the airport. For their part, Anita and Clearblue wore blouses and casual but flattering trousers. Even when moving hastily, ‘business casual’ seemed the lowest standard of dress Asher allowed himself: he wore fitted navy slacks, a light lavender button-up ( _sans_ tie), and espresso-brown leather loafers.

“Thank you all for getting ready quickly—I apologize for waking everyone abruptly. We will have time to rest and rejuvenate once we reach our destination,” Clearblue said to her hyenas.

The doors of the hotel opened with a gentle _click_ by two of Azra’s guards, and Clearblue raised her hand in greeting to them, some yards away.

“Please leave your room keys at the front desk and head out to the cars.” She nodded them forward.

Despite the early hour, they moved efficiently. Azra had provided one SUV and one hearse for their party, with herself, Nazir, and their hyenas packed into the lead SUV. Clearblue settled into the back of their vehicle between Anita and Bacchus, with Asher’s hearse behind them as before.

The drive to Fès–Saïss Airport was a short twenty minutes. The collective fatigue of their group prohibited conversation; everyone was content to watch the pre-dawn darkness and occasional blink of residential electric light pass by outside. When the airport came into view, their caravan merged off the main road and took an unassuming, narrow exit. Anita straightened her shoulders and leaned attentively toward the window.

Soon, they approached a small tollbooth-like building attached to a long metal arm that blocked their way. On the other side of the booth was a red sign with large Arabic characters printed on it; in smaller English lettering below, it read _Do Not Enter. Authorized Guests and Personnel Only_. The vehicle idled only briefly, however, before the arm rose and they passed through. Curious now, Clearblue moved closer to Anita and watched as they circled around to a secluded tarmac with what was definitely _not_ a commercial passenger aircraft parked on it. Rather, the caravan slowed to a stop in front of a private jet.

Anita looked at Clearblue with raised eyebrows. “Moneybags strikes again,” she said under her breath.


End file.
